Settling Family's Scores

Liyue Estate, Eardoznia – The Capulets Mansion

A Few Days Later – The Dream

Dominic found himself back at his family's home, sitting in his mother's beloved blossom garden. As he stood, confusion crept in—how had he gotten here? He began to walk, scanning the familiar surroundings. Delicate petals drifted down from the trees like soft snow, swirling in the breeze. He reached out, catching one in his hand as the wind tugged at his hair.

"The garden was destroyed after she died. Father burned it down... Why does it look so untouched? Something's not right," he thought, feeling an unsettling sense of wrongness. The scent of blossoms was overpowering, too vibrant for something that had been gone for years.

He continued his slow walk, his steps soundless on the stone path. The air seemed too still, the atmosphere too perfect. As he rounded the fountain, the sound of trickling water caught his attention. There, standing motionless by the edge of the fountain, was a figure—a woman, familiar and distant all at once. She wore a white lace gown, her feet adorned with delicate white heels, her posture regal yet ghostly.

He gasped inwardly, eyes widening as he called out, "Mother?" His voice cracked, desperate. Without thinking, he ran toward her, her arms outstretched as if to welcome him. Just when he was about to reach her, time seemed to warp—seconds felt like minutes. Suddenly, a sharp pain ripped through his body. His breath hitched, and with a choking gasp, he spat blood.

His eyes dropped in horror—there, lodged in his stomach, was a knife. His mother's hand gripped its hilt tightly.

Marie's face remained cold, unfeeling, as she twisted the blade and yanked it free with brutal force. Blood poured from the wound as Dominic staggered, clutching his abdomen, knees buckling under the weight of the pain. She walked past him, her steps eerily graceful, showing no remorse—no motherly warmth reminding him how she never wanted to give birth to him blaming him for her misfortunes. The knife gleamed with his blood, dripping rhythmically onto the ground as she passed.

Dominic turned his head, his vision blurring, but what he saw next froze his breath. His mother's face shimmered, like a broken reflection in a fractured mirror. Her features shifted, twisted, and reformed—suddenly, it wasn't Marie at all. It was Evangeline. Her cold, accusing eyes met his, the face he had come to know so well now filled with hatred holding the knife in her hand dripping blood.

He wasn't even surprised; she despised him, after all. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, her voice rang out, sharp as the blade that had cut him.

"You bastard! I regret ever marrying a scum like you," she hissed, her words a knife of their own, cutting deeper than the wound in his flesh. She walked toward him, her figure looming, his breath heavy and strained. But then—another shift, another flicker in reality and found himself in the backyard of the Bruswards house.

Her form glitched again, warping unnaturally, morphing into someone else. Now, it was his sister Anette, her silver hair disheveled and streaked with grime. Blood stained the lower part of her dress, and her frail figure seemed like a ghost from a forgotten nightmare. A scar marred the side of her mouth, blood trickling from the small wound. Her eyes, hollow and desperate, locked onto him there wasn't a knife in her hand this time.

"Little brother..." The voice was soft, almost tender, as Anette's figure knelt before him. She reached for his hair, her fingers ghosting over his scalp in a familiar, sisterly gesture. Dominic's breath came in ragged gasps, but before he could react, the world around him shifted. The lush blossoms of his mother's garden wilted and died, replaced by the cold, damp air of the backyard—the very place where Anette's lifeless body had been found.

Her form shimmered once again, glitching like a reflection in a cracked mirror, and as the environment twisted, they were no longer outside. The backyard dissolved, replaced by the heavy stillness of the piano room. The once comforting space now seemed suffocating. The air was thick with tension, and Dominic felt his heart race. His sister's figure contorted, transforming into Mrs. Dunovan, the woman who he had sexual activities with in his piano lessons.

She stood before him now, dressed in the same revealing, transparent gown she'd worn that fateful day. With a sultry chuckle, she reached out, caressing his chest in a way that felt far too intimate. Dominic recoiled, swatting her hand away, but her slow, mocking laughter echoed in the room. She pulled at the thin strap of her dress, letting it slip off her shoulder, revealing her half naked skin and cleavage as if to mock him further.

Suddenly, a sharp, searing pain shot through him. A bullet. It tore through his back, leaving him gasping, his blood—black and thick—spurting from his mouth. The sound of the shot reverberated in his mind as he collapsed to his knees, wheezing. He turned his head, and through blurred vision, he saw his father, Victor, standing there, the smoking gun still in his hand. The cold look in his eyes was enough to bring back the flood of emotional blackmail Victor and Mrs Dunovan had wielded over him for years, a weapon sharper than any bullet.

But as Dominic struggled to comprehend the pain, the figure shifted again. Mrs. Dunovan was gone. Victor was gone. And now, standing before him was a man—someone Dominic recognized, dressed in the same clothes he wore the last time they met before the man vanished from his life.

"People like you deserve to die. Returning kindness with cruelty," the man spat, his voice filled with contempt. Dominic blinked in confusion, unable to comprehend what was happening.

The world around him seemed to collapse. The room vanished, the walls disintegrating into nothingness. Now, only a dark, infinite void remained. No garden, no house, no family—just Dominic and the man. The man's gun was aimed squarely at Dominic's head.

A deafening bang followed as the bullet went through his head, Dominic didn't feel the impact, but everything went black. The void swallowed him whole, and in that emptiness, shadowy hands emerged from the darkness. They reached out, clawing at him—his sins, his regrets, his bloodshed—all dragging him deeper into the abyss.

Dominic opened his eyes, gasping for breath, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the cold splash of water forced him back to consciousness. The remnants of a vivid dream still clung to his mind, but reality quickly set in. He remembered the fight—a brutal clash with his aunt's men—and then the sting of a dart, courtesy of Oliver, lodged in his neck. Now, as his gaze sharpened, the world came into focus: morning light filtered through grimy windows, and a sneering voice reached his ears.

"The coward is awake," someone said, with a mocking scoff.

Dominic was bound to a chair, his once-pristine jacket removed, leaving only his bloodstained shirt, torn at the shoulder where an injury throbbed. His long hair had come loose from its usual style, falling messily over his face, contrasting the roughness of his appearance with a surprising allure. Some of the strands caught the light, framing his angular features with an unintentional elegance, even as he appeared disheveled and bound.

Nervile, bowl in hand, stood nearby. Ahead, Navier, Cerisse, and Brimsley watched him like he was nothing more than a criminal. The tension in the room was palpable, as if they'd been waiting for this moment.

Dominic flexed against the restraints, testing them. No use. His wrists were encased in thick, steampunk-like handcuffs, their intricate Eardoznian design making them impossible to break through. It wasn't just his hands—they'd tied him down tightly, robbing him of all movement. His belongings, including his jacket, were nowhere to be seen.

"It's no use struggling," Navier said, her voice cold as Dominic raised his head. "You're going to jail for treason. Mimicking our hair color is a crime in Eardoznia, and you've shamed my family's dignity. Tell Victor his plans to cause trouble here are over. You'll be executed soon enough—for killing my men."

Dominic gazed at her, the old woman's sharp features painfully familiar. His lip curled slightly, a chuckle escaping him, devoid of any true humor. "The Capulets," he began, his voice low, yet biting, "are narrow-minded. Condemning someone simply because of hair color? Quite the family legacy." His gaze bore into Navier's, unflinching, as he added, "I don't mind dying by the hands of the matriarch of the Capulets. Marie—your daughter—chose the same path."

Navier's eyes widened at the mention of her daughter. Without hesitation, she struck him hard across the face, the slap leaving a stinging red mark on his flawless skin. Dominic remained silent, his cheek smarting, but his gaze remained calm, indifferent to the pain.

"This boy has some nerve," Brimsley muttered, stepping forward, hand raised to hit Dominic again, but Caleb's voice cut through the air.

"Stop! Don't hurt him!" Caleb shouted, rushing toward them.

Cerisse turned her sharp gaze on Caleb, raising an eyebrow. "Who are you to interfere in family matters? Seize him."

The guards moved toward Caleb, but before they could lay a hand on him, Oliver appeared, stepping between them.

"Don't touch him. If you want to lay a hand on him, you'll have to get through me first," Oliver declared, his voice steady. He held up a paper. "Mother, call off the police. I have proof—the DNA original test ."

Navier's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? The DNA test was fake "

"I was tricked, Mother with a horse mane instead of Dominic's hair "Oliver admitted with a sigh holding the paper

"And I found Marie's locket in Dominic's room with her albums of her children"

Dominic raised an eyebrow surprised by Oliver's intervention"Did he just?..."He thought

"I'll explain everything...."Oliver said handing the papers to his mother

A few hours later, after Dominic moved into the Capulets' house alongside Caleb and the guards, he sat at the dining table, surrounded by Navier, Oliver, and his other estranged family members. His injuries had been tended to—his shoulder wrapped in bandages, supported by a sling, yet his presence remained powerful. Dressed in fresh clothes, Dominic looked more godlike than ever. His hair, now revealed as a healthy, rich strawberry blonde, cascaded down his back and over his shoulders, smooth and silky, adding to his striking appearance. The open-chested, buttoned shirt with gilded sleeves that he wore only enhanced his allure, showcasing his well-toned physique. Despite the turmoil of the morning, Dominic radiated a calm, confident energy that demanded attention.

His beauty was undeniable. Even in this wounded state, there was an elegance and poise that set him apart—a man who seemed to transcend the roughness of the world around him.

Navier, Oliver, and the others listened intently as Dominic began to speak. His voice was steady, though beneath the surface, it carried years of buried emotion.

"I'm not here to beg for forgiveness or to reclaim anything from the past," Dominic started with his emotionless expression and icy gaze locking eyes with each of his relatives. "I'm here to explain. What you found—my mother's ashes, the locket, and the other belongings—they're all that's left of my ties to the Bruswards. My elder siblings have gone their separate ways, and as for myself, I've cut ties with the family entirely. What you need to understand is that I was forced into this. My father, Victor, lied to us—to me and my sister, Anette—about my mother's death."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the room. Even Navier, usually cold and dismissive, leaned in slightly, her interest piqued.

"He told us Marie—our mother—died of drug abuse worsening her heart issues, the same illness that took Anette," Dominic continued, his eyes darkening as memories stirred. "But that's only part of the truth. Anette's death... it was mysterious, too painful to even mention . But for now, let's just say I've decided not to push that truth forward. For her sake. For all of you."

He leaned back, his bandaged arm resting on the table. "Edward, my elder brother, is following in our father's footsteps. His crimes, his ruthless nature—it's all a mirror of our father. I won't have any part of it"Velico one of the younger brothers of Marie, may be the only one left with a sense of morality, but even he is deeply disappointed with Edward's actions.

Dominic sighed, his eyes softening slightly mixed with no emotion but they couldn't notice the softness. "I'm not here to drag anyone else into the mess that's my family. I'm here to put an end to my involvement. The Bruswards can continue their war with the world, but I won't. I have no interest in their ways anymore."

Oliver nodded, clearly relieved that Dominic had chosen to reveal what he had, though Dominic's carefully crafted words left much unspoken. The Capulets remained tense, but they could see the sincerity behind Dominic's resolve. Though their pasts were tangled, this moment offered a fragile peace—a new chapter, if they chose to accept it.

As Dominic continued to speak, Oliver's reaction to Dominic's words was telling. He was taken aback, caught off guard by Dominic's composure and the depth of his plan. For a brief moment, Oliver had suspected that Dominic was simply playing along, but now he could see the full extent of Dominic's foresight and manipulation. The realization that Dominic had been aware of the trap all along left him stunned, unsure whether to feel relieved or further suspicious of Dominic's true intentions.

The rest of the room fell silent as they processed Dominic's confession. Navier, who had been stewing in her own suspicions and guilt, finally turned to face him, her expression a mixture of shock and confusion.

"You set the horse mane on purpose?" Navier asked, her voice quieter than usual, yet sharp with curiosity. "But why?"

Dominic gave a calm nod, his eyes briefly locking with hers. "I had my reasons. I knew the moment you saw my hair, you'd want to test it. The Capulets are known for their obsession with preserving the purity of their lineage, and a stranger showing up with the same hair would undoubtedly raise suspicions. I figured you would despise me just for being Victor's son, and I wanted to see just how far that disdain would take you. So, I allowed myself to fall into your trap."

He paused, picking up a pair of chopsticks with his left hand from the napkin beside his plate, his movements deliberate. He dipped the chopsticks into his meal, pulling out an onion from the seafood dish. His careful selection was slow, methodical. Navier's eyes followed the motion closely, her thoughts suddenly flooded with memories. She remembered Marie, her daughter, doing the same thing—picking out onions because she didn't like them. And just like Marie, Dominic was left-handed.

The resemblance was undeniable, not only in looks but in small, intimate details that brought the past crashing into the present. For a moment, Navier's hardened exterior cracked, her eyes softening as she watched her grandson continue to eat, unaware of the connection she had made.

Dominic continued, breaking the silence again, "What I didn't expect was the dart. That caught me off guard. It sent me spiraling into hallucinations—memories twisted and darkened. But in a way, it confirmed something for me. You were willing to go to extreme lengths to uncover the truth, and I wanted to see just how far you would go."

As the words hung in the air, a flashback began to play out in Dominic's mind—his conversation with Caleb before all of this had unfolded. It was the night before his encounter with Oliver.

Few Days Ago Before the Meeting

In the dimly lit room, Dominic leaned against the window, looking out over the dark streets. Caleb sat across from him, a questioning look in his eyes. "You really think they're going to test your hair?" Caleb asked, his tone skeptical but curious.

Dominic smiled faintly, his eyes narrowing with calculated precision. "Oh, I know they will. The Capulets are predictable in their paranoia. They'll see me as a threat, and that's exactly what I want. They'll conduct a DNA test, thinking they'll uncover some deep secret or proof of deception."

"But what if they find out the truth?" Caleb questioned, leaning forward.

Dominic's smile deepened. "They will. And that's where I turn it to my advantage. I'll give them the horse mane, let them think they've caught me in a lie. It'll confirm their suspicions, make them think they have control. But when the time comes, I'll give them the real truth—on my terms."

Caleb nodded slowly, beginning to understand the intricacies of Dominic's plan. "You really trust Oliver to play along?"

Dominic chuckled softly. "Oliver's not the problem. He's been following me, spying on me—though I'm sure he thinks I haven't noticed. He's a pawn in this game, just like everyone else. What matters is making sure the Capulets sees what I want them to see."

The flashback ended, bringing Dominic back to the present moment at the dining table, where all eyes were still on him. He dipped his chopsticks into the seafood again, this time taking a bite as the room remained eerily silent.

Navier, now visibly shaken by both the memories of Marie and the realization of how deeply Dominic had outmaneuvered them, spoke again, her voice quieter than before. "You played us... from the beginning."

Dominic didn't deny it. "Yes. But I had to. You wouldn't have listened otherwise."

Oliver, still absorbing everything, felt conflicted. Part of him wanted to resent Dominic for his manipulation, but another part of him admired the sheer brilliance of his strategy. The truth was, Dominic had always been one step ahead of them, using their own suspicions and paranoia to his advantage. And now, with the truth laid bare, they had no choice but to believe him.

Navier sighed deeply, her chest heavy with the weight of long-buried emotions. The sound of Dominic's voice, the subtle movement of his left hand as he handled the chopsticks with an effortless grace—it was all too familiar. It brought back memories she had both cherished and tried desperately to forget. As she dabbed at the tears threatening to fall, the ache in her heart seemed to deepen with each passing second. The pains of motherhood were not just in giving birth or raising children, but in watching them grow distant, in losing them to time or tragedy, and in this case, having to bury a daughter she adored.

She watched Dominic quietly from her seat, the sight of him stirring feelings she hadn't let herself feel in years. How could he remind her so much of Marie? It wasn't just the physical resemblance, though his strawberry blonde hair and grey eyes echoed her daughter's beauty. It was in the subtle gestures—how he held the chopsticks in his left hand, the meticulous way he picked out the onions from his food, and the calmness with which he moved, like someone aware of every motion, every breath. Dominic's elegance at the table mirrored Marie's youthful grace, and the memories came rushing back with painful clarity.

~Clonadius 8th 1799~

Marie, 12 years old, had looked so perfect in her light blue dress, the twin buns in her hair tied with matching ribbons that fluttered as she moved. She had been so vibrant, so full of life, even at that young age. Navier, then heavily pregnant with one of Marie's younger siblings, remembered sitting across from her daughter at the dining table. She had watched with affectionate amusement as Marie picked at her food, always using her left hand with the fork, always removing the onions with delicate care

"Denian, if you don't like the food, you don't have to eat it," Navier had said, her voice full of love. "I'll tell the chef to make you something else. Something you like."

Marie had giggled, the sound pure and light, her blue eyes sparkling. "Mother, it's fine! I just don't fancy onions. I don't think I ever will."

Navier had laughed softly at her daughter's stubbornness, her heart swelling with pride and love. "Alright, I'll make sure the chef knows to leave out the onions for you from now on."

Even back then, Marie had been so particular, so delicate with everything she did. By the time she turned 15, her habits had become almost a part of her charm. People in their social circles referred to her as an angel, and Navier could see why. Marie moved through life with an almost ethereal grace—everything she did, from eating to conversing, was refined. Her beauty had only grown, and so had Navier's pride.

~Back to the Present~

But now, watching Dominic, Navier felt an emptiness that she couldn't quite put into words. The same grace, the same delicate movements as a left handed person, echoed before her as if Marie had been reborn in her grandson. Every time Dominic picked at his food, every time he carefully avoided the onions, it was like watching her daughter all over again. Yet, Dominic wasn't Marie. He was the son she had never known, the child who had grown up so far away from her, raised by the very family that had stolen Marie from her.

"You don't like onions, Dominic?" Navier asked, her voice trembling slightly, as if the question might break the fragile hold she had on her emotions.

Dominic looked up, his expression calm but thoughtful. "No, I've never liked them. I don't like their texture on my taste buds, and frankly, I don't see the point of them in a meal."

Navier felt her heart clench. His voice, even his reasoning, sounded just like Marie. The parallels were too striking. "He's Marie's son…" she thought again, the reality settling over her like a heavy blanket. Tears welled up in her eyes, and this time, she couldn't stop them. She quickly dabbed them away, hoping no one would notice, but Oliver, sitting across from her, glanced at her with quiet understanding. He, too, had noticed the similarities.

Dominic, meanwhile, continued eating, unaware of the turmoil his mere presence had caused. Navier's heart ached with the weight of all the years lost. She had never had the chance to know him, to be a part of his life, and now here he was, sitting before her—an adult, shaped by experiences she had no hand in. And yet, every movement, every habit, reminded her of Marie, the daughter she had loved so fiercely and lost too soon.

With a deep breath, Navier spoke softly. "Dominic… I know I haven't been kind to you. I haven't made things easy, and for that, I am sorry." Her voice trembled slightly as she continued. "I would like to make it up to you, if you'll allow me."

Dominic paused, looking up from his plate, his grey eyes locking with hers. For a moment, there was silence at the table. Even Oliver, Velico, and the others seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his response. They, too, had felt the shift in the air, the unspoken understanding that something had changed between their mother and Dominic.

After a brief pause, Dominic nodded slightly. "Thank you," he said quietly, his words carrying a depth that spoke of years of pain and misunderstandings.

The room was still, but in that quiet, something had begun to heal. Navier, though still burdened with the loss of Marie, felt a new kind of hope stirring within her. It wouldn't be easy—years of hurt.